


Mind If I Do A Jay?

by Dreadmartha



Category: Intermission - Fandom, Problem Sleuth - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreadmartha/pseuds/Dreadmartha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PI and DD smoke together and then do the deed. Wrote this while being about 67-.02% stoned</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind If I Do A Jay?

His mouth was hot and Pickle Inspector shivered, burning his tongue on the soup he was sipping out of a styrofoam cup. The boardwalk spilled out on either side of him, glittery in spots further and further from him. It was one in the morning, and they were setting off the few drunks they had. A year ago the whole strip would have been lit up, gold bouncing out over the waves of the bay.  
He could feel the salt and rot in the boards under his feet and the rust and sweat in the rails of the bench. Pickle Inspector flicked his cigarette out into the blackness of the rocky beach, picking up his cup of soup again and taking another sip.  
“I didn’t know you smoked.”  
Pickle Inspector jumped, spilling hot soup down his front. He spat and coughing, turning to see who was coming.  
“I--I--I--” He fidgeted, half his ass frozen to the bench’s seat, and his legs too stiff for him to jump up anyway.  
Droog was coming around to the other side of the bench, and he plopped down next to Pickle Inspector before the other could get up.  
“I r-rollll my own.” He fished in his pockets for a rolling paper, pulling one out and holding it up. It was dark all around them, and the paper flopped down over his knuckle, and he tried to flip it upright again.  
“Ah.” Droog responded. He reached into his coat and pulled out a handkerchief, shoving it over to Pickle Inspector.  
The Inspector took it, the paper snapping out of his hand on the wind. He watched it go, then blinked down at the handkerchief and frowning, mopping at his chest with it.  
“Sorry, I mmmean thank you. An-and sorry. I uh. I wah-wasn’t uh, ex-expecting…”  
“You weren’t expecting me?” Droog cut in over him.  
Pickle Inspector clamed up, shoving his upper lip behind is lower. His eyes were big and black in the dark.  
“C-comp-any.” He finished his sentence.  
“Uh huh.”  
Droog waved off the handkerchief as Pickle Inspector tried to hand it back to him.  
“Keep it.”  
“It’s y-yours.”  
“It’s dirty. You can have it.”  
Pickle Inspector looked at it, before folding it up gingerly and shoving it into his pocket.  
“Is, is th-there s-something y-you want, Mah-Mr. Droog?”  
“Some quiet.”  
Pickle Inspector sat there for a minute, not looking at him or anything. He stared out at the dark beach, into a small black place between two rocks, before speaking again, putting his hands down on the bench and getting ready to tear his frozen ass off.  
“I should go.”  
“No.” The Inspector’s shoulders locked, his back straight and his legs poised in front of him, ready to pull him up. “Stay put.”  
He settled back down, back angling into the wooden slats on the bench.  
His mouth was dry and he fished his tongue around to try and fix that, listening hard for a rhythm in the noise of the water out ahead of him.  
He heard footsteps ten or fifteen feet from them, and glanced at Droog for confirmation, but the other man wasn’t looking toward the noise.  
Pickle Inspector couldn’t tell where he was looking at all, really. He could barely make out of the curve of his nose and the slope of his forehead, his eyes were way too deep set to see in the gloom.  
He opened and closed his mouth, before remembering to be quiet.  
Pickle Inspector glanced to the side, finding his styrofoam cup and picking it up. The sides of the cup begged for his fingernails, and he turned the thing up to his mouth to be sure it was empty, before he started digging his nails into the top of the cup.  
“Roll another one.”  
It took him a moment to realize what he would roll it in, because the styrofoam definitely shouldn’t be smoked out of. Then he remembered the little cardboard box of gauzy papers in his pocket. He set the cup down carefully to be sure the soup, he didn’t remember if any was in there, wouldn’t spill.  
Pickle Inspector rustled in his pockets, finally finding the papers and taking one out. He pulled out his wallet and unzipped the change compartment, taking out the flattish see through bag inside.  
“Do you need any light?”  
He shook his head, hunching over and poking the paper in between his knees to hold it still in a neat V as he opened the little bag.  
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”  
Droog shifted in his seat, leaning his arms against the back of the bench, keeping them bent so he didn’t touch Pickle Inspector.  
He swallowed a few times, before sitting up again and holding the little jay between his thumb and middle finger.  
“Okay. I, th-there’s a fuh-filter.”  
“Your stutter is better.”  
“S-some sometimes it even goes away I think it, it h-has to do with uh,” Droog took the jay and put it in his mouth, turning away to light it. Pickle Inspector looked down at the beach again. “Because it’s uh, it duh-dilates the lungs, so it’s, I can b-breathe better. And I'm,” he snickered “Calmer.”  
“Mmn.” Droog blew smoke out through his teeth, holding the jay out to Pickle Inspector. He plucked it out of him fingers, looking down at it, then shook his head.  
“I’m fine.”  
Droog took it back and leaned into the bench, taking two more drags before he sighed and looked at Pickle Inspector.  
“Work tonight?”  
Pickle Inspector shook his head, smiling seraphically.  
“J-just home to Frida.”  
“Who?”  
“My cat.”  
Droog hummed, turning back to the beach and breathing out another cloud, then a few quiet streams of smoke.  
Finally he flicked it out into the rocks below and hunched over, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.  
Pickle Inspector rolled his tongue over the roof of his mouth, wishing he had more soup or some water.  
The sound of the waves pushed the hair out of his face and he felt along the seat of the bench, eyes closed. Droog coughed twice next to him and the sound popped against the skin on his arm. His coat was cold and silky against his skin, and he wondered, remembering, if he tie was still on underneath it. He’d untied it hours ago.  
Rather than checking, he opened his eyes and turned back to Droog.  
“Can I go?”  
Droog shook his head, the orange spot of at the tip of the cigarette swishing back and forth through the air.  
“Sorry. Th-at was ruuude.” Pickle Inspector shoved his hands between his knees and sat back.  
He was quiet, feeling the waves of sound splash against his forehead, his coat humming against him with the noise. The front of his coat was pulled away from him, and Droog was very close, leaning into him over his shoulder. Pickle Inspector shifted, frowning.  
“I don’t like you there,” He said, leaning away.  
“Hold still.” Droog’s hand moved from his coat up his front to his neck. He felt the cold tip of gloved fingers against one of the veins growing up into his jaw. “What this?”  
“My neck.”  
“It looks like there’s a scar here.”  
“There isn’t.” He reached for Droog’s hand and pushed it away. “What did you want again? Sorry.”  
Droog shrugged, blowing cigarette smoke in Pickle Inspector’s face. The detective made a face, his head heating up and spilling a warm softness down his back.  
“I want to touch you now,” Droog said, as amiably as Pickle Inspector had ever heard him speak. It was, he admitted, an answer. Even if it did make him a little queasy.  
He pulled the collar of his coat up, shifted on his numb legs and burping loudly, a cloud of smoke rolling out of his mouth.  
“Ex-excuse me.” He covered his mouth and turned away.  
Droog scooted over, sitting hip to hip with the Inspector now, and put his arms around his from behind, hanging onto his coat. It hung from his shoulders, and Droog grumbled against his back.  
“You’re tiny.”  
Pickle Inspector nodded, unable to sit up with the weight of Droog’s arms.  
“I am. Let go please.”  
“Hang on.” Droog’s chin pushing up against his shoulderblade, and he felt his arms tighten, hands pushing inside his coat. He squirmed, and Droog laughing through his teeth, grabbing at his shirt.  
“Where are you,” He squeezed Pickle Inspector’s chest, pulling on his shirt. “Where are you in this old thing?”  
Pickle Inspector shoved his arms flat against his sides, making a loud high ‘Nmh-MHN’ sound.  
“I think that’s enough.” He said, his voice breaking and straightening out the thrumming of the waves for a moment. Droog stopped, hanging onto him a moment longer before pulling his hands back. Pickle Inspector buttoned up his coat. “Did you follow me here?”  
“No.”  
“Then why are you even here it, you, you, it’s so dark here.”  
“I think here. I like the noise, the water.”  
“Then why come bother me?”  
He heard the rustling of Droog’s coat as he shrugged.  
Pickle Inspector stood up finally, wobbling on his feet.  
“Please stay here and thuhh-think.”  
Droog grumbled, rubbing his face.  
“I’ll pay you,” He said, teeth flashing behind his hand.  
“No. It’s not like that.”  
“Like-- don’t act like you don’t need the money.”  
“You h-have been, been, you did spy on mmme.”  
“No,” Droog snapped. “I just know you’re dirty and poor.”  
“I’m not dirty.” He shuffled his feet, shoving either hand into the other armpit. “That’s cruel of you to s-say. You don’t know me.”  
“Shut up.”  
Droog stood up carefully, leaning his weight on the bench’s railing. Watching him move in the dark, Pickle Inspector remembered that Droog was much older than him. He swallowed, remembering that his mother said cruel was the worst thing to call someone.  
“I’m sorry.”  
Droog stood in front of him, barely taller than him as the Inspector hunched over.  
“Two hundred, okay. Two hundred and you’re a happy boy.”  
Pickle Inspector shook his head, trying to stand up straight, but the wind picked up and he bent over again, his stomach empty and freezing.  
“I’m going home.” He told Droog.  
“How do you know you won’t like it?”  
“I don’t like you that’s wh-wh-why.”  
Droog frowned at him. They both hadn’t moved from in front of the bench.  
“It’s easy money. What’s so wrong with being a whore?”  
“Nothing,” Pickle Inspector spoke very softly. “I’m not a whore.”  
“It’s not a bad thing,” Droog's hands curled in his coat. “You just said so.”  
Pickle Inspector looked around, eyes watering.  
“Are you going to cut me?”  
He could see it so clearly, Droog with him up against one of the beams holding up the boardwalk, covering his mouth and working in and out of him, ripping open the walls of blood and muscle holding him together.  
He could hear the sound of his guts sloping out and splashing on the rocks below, feel splinters in his belly.  
“No.”  
Pickle Inspector sniffed loudly, mopping at his face with his sleeve.  
“Oh-okay.”  
“Okay what?”  
“What?”  
“Say yes.”  
Pickle Inspector’s head bobbed at he looked around them.  
“Yes. I can’t outrun you, I don’t think I can outrun you.”  
“Stop talking.”  
He stopped talking.  
Droog stepped forward, pushing Pickle Inspector in step with him, and held onto his coat as they walked to one of the sets of stairs that led down from the boardwalk to the beach. The steps groaned under Droog and squeaked under the Inspector, the tiny pebbles on the beach rolling under their feet, sending tiny sparks up to the Inspector’s brain.  
He forgot what was happening for a moment, and thought he was walking along behind Sleuth, until Droog led him under the boardwalk.  
It was damp and silent under the boardwalk, and wherever he looked he saw the huge black shapes of the support beams growing just up over his head.  
Droog let go of his coat, but kept moving. He took off his gloves and moved ahead of Pickle Inspector, who stopped when he was let go of.  
Droog looked back at him when he noticed he wasn’t following him. He waved him over. Pickle Inspector stayed put.  
“C’mon, Inspector.” Under the boards, he could tell how ruined Droog’s voice was. In his mind, he saw the shadows around them pour into his mouth and become the hard blackness in his chest, humming with breath and blood.  
“Don’t mmmmake it hurt.” Pickle Inspector started digging in his pockets, shifting his feet around, his heels digging through the pebbles. “Don’t--you don’t hurt me. And--and--here!” He found the small plastic square in his pocket, and yanked it out, almost falling over. He threw an arm out to steady himself against one of the beams, still holding up the condom.  
Then he realized Droog couldn’t see it, because he sure as hell couldn’t see Droog.  
“I have a condom,” He said, shifting his feet around. He didn’t want to go to him now. He could run into the sea, maybe. He couldn’t navigate the support beams, not without running into one.  
The safest place for him was next to Droog. His only hope was in violation.  
He wanted to sleep, he wanted to run back up the stairs and just that thought made his jaw hurt, as he saw himself tripping on the steps and snapping his chin on the railing.  
“What else do you have?” Droog was coming over to him, his broken voice barely piecing words together.  
“What?”  
Droog took his arm and pulled him away from the support beam. He lost his balance, falling into Droog and feeling how solid he was. He grabbed for support, finding Droog’s side. He didn’t have any empty place between his ribs, didn’t slide back across the pebbles with Pickle Inspector’s weight.  
Droog turned his head up, snaking an arm around Pickle Inspector and holding him there. He leaned up and ran his tongue under the side of Pickle Inspector’s jaw.  
The detective shuddering, holding onto Droog and waiting for what was next. He couldn’t piece together anything to say, worried about being a broken record. How many times could he say no before Droog lost his patience with him?  
“Don’t hit me.” His voice broke.  
“You worry too much.” Droog moved his arm, keeping a fistful of Pickle Inspector coat as he walked deeper under the boardwalk.  
Pickle Inspector stumbled, trying to keep up. Droog stopped just short of the brick embankment dividing the street from the boardwalk, pulling Pickle Inspector around in front of him and pushing him up against it.  
They were face to face, and Pickle Inspector could just find the movement of Droog’s eyes in their hollows. Droog took the condom from him, pocketing it, and tugged on his coat.  
“What else to do you have?  
He started rifling through Pickle Inspector’s coat, pulling it open in places, then starting to fight with the buttons. Pickle Inspector wanted to scream. He grabbed at Droog’s hands, trying to salvage his coat.  
“Don’t fight--” Droog snapped at him.  
“M’not fighting--” He turned his shoulder to Droog, hunching and trying to open his coat as quickly as he could. Droog turned him back around and Pickle Inspector held up his hands. “J-ju-just c-c-calm down please. Be, be careful and it’ll, it--I--” Pickle Inspector sniffed loudly, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. “No fighting. Okay?”  
Droog pulled on his coat, looking down at him, and felt around for the inside pocket. Pickle Inspector didn’t move as he reached inside and felt around, pulling out the flask he’d been hiding.  
Droog unscrewed the top, then looped an arm around Pickle Inspector’s neck and pulled him down so his head was level with Droog’s chest. His chin ground against his sternum, and the flask banged against his teeth as Droog forced it into his mouth.  
He gulped loudly, his throat burning with the alcohol and the effort. He hung off of Droog, his legs twisted under him. His face was wet, he was choking.  
Droog didn’t let go of him.  
His head spun.  
The flask moved, and he stood there gasping, looking up at him as Droog upturned the last of the flask into his own mouth.  
He wobbled, digging his fingers into Droog’s arm and pulling at it. Droog let him go, pushing him back against the wall and stuffing the empty flask back into his pocket.  
He was shivering as Droog went through his other pockets, finally pulling something else out.  
“Lotion?” He saw Droog turning the little bottle in his hand.  
“My l-l-lady friend’s.” Pickle Inspector’s eye widened. “I have a girlfriend--You, you can’t, I--if, if s-something h-happens to mmmme she’ll, she’d, she’d look f-for me.”  
Droog’s fingers slipped around the buckle of his belt, pulling him closer. He pocketed the lotion as well.  
“Maybe I’ll come play with both of you.”  
The Inspector squeaked, shaking his head.  
“This--this. Only once. This is, this is it. All you, we--this is never happening again.”  
Droog started undoing his belt.  
“If you say so.”  
He unbuttoned the Inspector’s pants, reaching around and squeezing his ass.  
“I do.” Pickle Inspector’s voice dropped, his back arching away from Droog.  
Droog reached up and took his hands, putting them on his neck. He tilted his head.  
“Touch me.”  
He left Pickle Inspector’s hands there.  
Taking a deep breath, he felt up and down Droog’s neck, trying to be gentle. He couldn’t put down enough pressure to choke him and Pickle Inspector didn’t want him to think he was fighting.  
He moved his hands down Droog’s front, the leather of his coat was cold and hard under his palms. He reached up for Droog’s shoulders, finding them and squeezing.  
“Like that,” Droog’s eyes closed, and he turned his face down, offering it to his hands.  
He waited and when Droog didn’t move his head he reached up and touched his face. Pickle Inspector was holding his breath.  
He felt the hollows under his cheekbones, the lines around his mouth, the soft skin under his eyes.  
One of his hands went up to his temple, fingers curled to keep them out of his hair. The other hand went down along his jaw, his thumb tapping tentatively at Droog’s lips.  
Pickle Inspector closed his eyes, feeling Droog’s tongue against the pad of his thumb. He pushed back, easing his thumb into his mouth. Droog started sucking on it, pulling Pickle Inspector’s pants open and reaching inside.  
Feeling Droog’s hand against him, he snapped his hand out of his mouth and scrambled at the wall, fighting hard to get away from him.  
Droog ground his teeth, grabbing his hips and his coat, shoving him across the wall before he turned him around and shoving Pickle Inspector’s face into the bricks.  
Standing there, he could feel Droog’s hips nestled between his legs, just enough to keep them open.  
“No,” he choked on a sob. “No no no no no no,” He tried to dig his nails into the mortar between the bricks, as both Droog’s hands pushed into his pants, sliding around his hips. One hand moved to the front, finding his dick and stroking it through the cloth. The other hand snapped the waistband of his panties.  
“What is this?” Droog sounded ecstatic. “What are you wearing?”  
Pickle Inspector sobbed loudly, Droog shoved his pants down out of the way and felt up and down the stockings he had on.  
He raking his fingers up Pickle Inspector’s leg.  
“You must be fucking kidding me.” He could hear Droog smiling.  
“I want to go home. P-please--stop. Stop just stop.”  
The hand on his dick moved, he heard the cap on the lotion open and close, and then Droog’s hand was back, spreading the lotion up and down him. He squeezed the Inspector’s head.  
“Pretty little slut got all dressed up for Daddy?”  
He let out a yell, stiffening in Droog’s hand and needing to vomit.  
“I’m not--nnnot. N-nnnot a slut.”  
“Yes you are.” He stroked faster, leaning into the Inspector. “All alone out here, dressed up for whoever came next.”  
He starts humming with the effort it takes the put together a sentence.  
“It’s f-for me. I--no one else. Not you. Not you.”  
Droog reaches down and rolls his balls around in his hand.  
“You didn’t get dressed up for me?” He yanks on them and the Inspector yelps again. “Is that what you said?”  
Pickle Inspector shakes his head vigorously, hair flying.  
“No?” Droog pulls again, harder.  
“No!” The Inspector can’t tell where the ground is anymore. He’s panting and sweating. “It’s for you, I, I knew you’d like.” His voice catches and he feels so sick.  
“Ah,” Droog lets go again, pulling the Inspector’s dick into the panties and stroking through them. “That’s what I was hoping for. Now, who’s little slut are you?”  
“Yours.” He’s terrified of stuttering. Droog’s already losing his patience. If Pickle Inspector doesn’t speak when spoken to he doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him.  
“Say it again.” Droog starts playing with his ass.  
“Yours. Yours. Your l-little suh-suhhh--” He makes a few wet noises as his legs are pushed open and he hears the cap of the lotion again.  
“We’ll work on the stuttering,” Droog’s fingers are slippery, but just getting one inside if hard.  
Pickle Inspector can’t breathe anymore, he hangs onto the wall and tries to suck in a breath. He can’t relax, and even with the lotion it hurts. “Then you can tell me how much you love getting fucked.”  
“One time!” Pickle blurts out. He thinks his mouth is working again, but he only says is again and again, as Droog starts in another finger.  
“Shhhshhshh,” Droog stops stroking him and holds onto his hips, thrusting his own forward, the bulge in his pants pressing against the inside of Pickle Inspector’s thigh. “You don’t want to be caught like this, do you?”  
Half naked, in his garter, hard and with Diamonds Droog ready to fuck him. Pickle Inspector couldn’t even dream of this before tonight.  
“No,” he squeaks, sniffling as Droog works his fingers in and out. He hisses and Droog pats his back.  
“It’s alright. Daddy’s right here. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”  
He starts to say something, but his mouth stops working and he’s left just making terrified sounds.  
Another finger and he starts shaking all over, knees buckling. Droog has to hold him up by the hip.  
Pickle Inspector chews his lips and whimpers as the fingers pull out of him, and both Droog’s hands hold onto his hips, one of them pulling the back of his panties out of the way.  
Droog opens his pants and pushes against him, pressing inside without the condom. He groans through his teeth, squeezing Pickle Inspector’s ass and smacking it.  
The Inspector can’t stop shaking, and he can’t move an inch. Droog pushes deeper and he gasps, starting the pant.  
“Like that?” He goes deeper and the Inspector starts the yell. Droog claps a hand over his mouth. “I’ll get you a leash and collar, tie you up and have everyone know who owns you.” He grunts, forcing his way deeper. Pickle Inspector moans and shakes under him. Droog gropes at his backside again. “Pimp your pretty little ass out, see how much you can bring in for me.”  
He slides out, starting the thrust in a steady rhythm.  
“How’s that sound, sweetness? Be Daddy’s little working girl.”  
He doesn’t let go of Pickle Inspector’s mouth, and the man just crumbles in his arms, crying and crying.  
“God,” his voice is so raspy isn’t barely audible. “You’re so fucking tight.” He pulls back, groaning, and rocks back inside, fucking him slower now.  
“Feel that? You like that don’t you?” He tussles Pickle Inspector’s hair, letting go of his mouth finally. He pinches his cheeks, rocking deeper and squeezing Pickle Inspector’s legs shut as much as he can. “Say you love your Daddy’s cock.”  
“I l-l-love it.” He’s empty and being filled with something cloudy and pale. He won’t be able to stand up after this, he won’t be able to think. He’s going to melt into the pebbles around them and slip into the lake and become invisible. “I love Daddy’s cock. M-m-mmy Daddy’s cock.”  
Droog groans, reaching to stroke him again as he picks up speed.  
“That’s a good boy. You’ll be a good boy for me, won’t you? You’ll do whatever makes Daddy happy.”  
He nods, whimpering, begging in his head for anything that will end all this. He wants to sleep, he wants to jolt awake in bed alone and have this all be forgotten.  
Droog holds his hips and rocks them up against him. He moves in long slow digs, throbbing hard inside him. Pickle Inspector to tell something between them is about to give way, but he doesn’t know where he stops or Droog begins anymore.  
“Keep coming up for it, little slut.” He tries to follow Droog’s lead, rolling his hips to feel himself stretching. He chews his lip until he bleeds, and when Droog lets go he keeps going.  
“Faster.” Droog holds his hips, thrusting in and out more as Pickle Inspector tries to keep up. As soon as Droog’s pulling out he’s full again, and its all making him nauseous. He’s never going to be alone again. Droog’s always going to be there, watching him, directing him through the new life he’s got picked out for him.  
Droog grabs his legs and closes them again, fucking him harder than before. Pickle Inspector bounces against him, limp as a ragdoll and groans in pain. The darkness is full of the sounds of skin hitting skin, and Droog rams into Pickle Inspector, letting go of his hips and shoving him into the wall. He fucks him there, then rams him again and ram, pulling his hair and biting his neck.  
“Good boy,” He shudders, cumming inside Pickle Inspector and pulling out, finishing across his panties and the insides of his legs.  
He strokes himself limp, before pulling his pants back on and buckling his belt.  
Droog pulls Pickle Inspector’s panties up, making sure they’re tight between his ass. They’re a mess of wet spots, and cum drips down his legs, over his stockings. Droog pulls his pants up, buttons them up, and does his belt buckle. He turns Pickle Inspector around and smiles at him.  
“Look at you.” He pats his cheek.  
Pickle Inspector is red in the face, his cheeks scratched up by the bricks, eyes red and puffy. His mouth won’t stop moving in tiny worrying circles, and tears are still dripping from his chin and nose.  
Droog reaches over and turns his collar up, before fishing out his pack of cigarettes.  
He takes Pickle Inspector’s arm and walks him to the stairs they took down here.  
“Let me drive you back home, sweetheart.”


End file.
